


a type who will inhabit the dying earth

by funkandwag



Category: Pacific Rim
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkandwag/pseuds/funkandwag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They waited for God knows how long at the evac point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a type who will inhabit the dying earth

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a line of A.D. Hope's 'Australia'.

They waited for God knows how long at the evac point; saw families united, heard the brittle tones of who got out and who didn’t and he and Chuck waited, clothes smelling of smoke, him gripping the boy’s shoulder so hard he could feel the bone, feel the grit of dirt (ash) on his school jumper, the boy, still, not saying a word.

A call got through: Scott and Mum and Dad were out of the zone, they were fine. Another: Angela’s parents had been downtown as well, but _thank_ God, they’d left before the bloody thing showed _up_ and so on, Herc barely hearing them until-

“Is Charles with you?” (Christ. North Shore until the very fucking end.)

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. Is Angela?”

Silence, for too long. The voice (its identity slipped beneath the thundering in his ears) cleared its throat, once, twice. Strained, it asked, “Is she coming?”

The voice already knew the answer and he knew the answer, but maybe Chuck didn’t yet (smart as he was), so he said, “We’re at the evacuation site. If she’s anywhere, she’ll come here.”

After that, time; nothing but.

It was almost too much for Herc to just stare straight ahead, eyes _burning_ at how much time he’d been given when he needed it least. Just thirty more minutes, and he and Angela and Chuck would’ve been on the last helo out of Sydney, and everything would’ve been _fine_ ; the world would still be ending, they’d still have come here, but they’d all be together.

He wouldn’t be alone with this quiet boy, different from the glimpses of the crazy little shit (said with a smile on his face) he’d snatched between deployments; but, a couple months was a long while for a kid, enough space for his son to become a stranger.

The ones who’d found their people streamed away into the warehouse, where they’d be held for processing; after that, who knew.

And he and Chuck waited. It got darker. Most of the lights flickered on, some struggling, a few not making it at all.

“C’mon, we can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” (He said it too low and too careful.)

“We don’t need to.”

“Why?”

The kaiju (no codename yet, at least none he had heard) was why but so was whoever rained down nukes upon its head, but so was whoever gave them the order to do that, but so was whatever sent the kaiju in the first place, but so was whatever made the whatever and so on, until it was simpler to just say:

“Because I chose you.” Herc’s throat was so tight. The words barely got out and, for a second, he thought they hadn’t.

Then Chuck shuddered beneath his hand, a dry sort of cough scraping its way from his throat, then he shuddered again and again, and coughed again and again and then he just shook, because those weren’t coughs but sobs, and he was shaking, tears washing his face clean of ash from the fires.

“ _Fuck_.” It was the first time he’d heard him swear.

“Son-”

Chuck jerked forward (out from under his hand), shot his elbow back into where he must have thought his father was. But Herc was a soldier and a damn good one, so the boy couldn’t have hit him even if he’d aimed right, so he’d caught his son’s arm and held it.

So, he’d grabbed the other one and frog-marched Chuck, screaming ( _finally_ ), away, barely nodding at the soldier guarding the door.


End file.
